The Traitor's Daughter. Joanna Makepeace
so long parted from their daughter by circumstances they were powerless to alter and of the present serious illness of Sir Daniel. It had seemed reasonable and his duty to assume responsibility for the safety of his neighbour’s kin. He had not expected such a hostile reaction from Lady Philippa. He sighed. They would be thrown together for several more days. In honour he must control his growing feelings for her. He had gravely insulted her by his suggestion that she had acted wantonly. There would be time for him to discover if he were, in fact, mistaken and, if so, to attempt to repair the damage.
The darkness upon the landing was beginning to lighten to grey. He settled himself more comfortably, yet in a position to continue his nocturnal watch.
Philippa stole back to her bed, careful not to disturb her sleeping mother. Her cheeks were still hot with embarrassed fury directed at the man who was separated from her only by the thickness of the chamber door. Her plan would have to be abandoned. Rhys Griffith would not move from his post this night. She would have to try to find some other opportunity to have talk with Peter away from the man’s insufferable vigilance.
She punched the straw-filled pillow violently to relieve her feelings and wriggled down in the bed. Yet sleep evaded her. The vision of the man’s dark presence continued to dominate her thoughts. She tossed and turned restlessly. She had never before encountered a man so bluntly and insultingly spoken. No one in the Duchess’s retinue, nor even any nobleman at Queen Elizabeth’s court at Westminster, would have dared to question her so accusingly. He was hateful and she had no way of proving to him how shamefully wrong he was in his suspicions. Peter was a dear and trusted friend whom she had known from childhood. Never could she think of him as—she blushed inwardly at the thought—as a lover. Even if they had had more intimate feelings towards each other, neither would have behaved so indecorously. Peter would have regarded such desires as a blot upon the knightly honour to which he had once aspired. Knowing how vulnerable her position was at court, she had been particularly careful that she was never alone in any man’s company, since her dowerless state would have made it impossible for any man to offer her honourable marriage.
Rhys Griffith had immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion. Indignantly she asked herself what business it was of his? He had no hold over her. It was as if he were—jealous! The idea was laughable.
Once more she pounded her pillow in impotent fury. Somehow she must convince him that he had accused her falsely, but without alerting him to the true reason for her determination to meet with Peter privately for that could put them all in danger. Strangely she was most anxious that Rhys Griffith should not think ill of her, though, for the life of her, she could not understand her own reason for caring.
Chapter Three
They travelled by easy stages through the lovely Welsh countryside, through Carmarthen, Landovery and Buith Wells, and stayed at last at an inn in Leominster. The weather stayed fine. The rain, which had fallen before their arrival in Wales, had laid the dust and the roads were reasonably comfortable as a result, neither too miry or too dusty and hard ridged.
As on the stops they had made previously, the inn Sir Rhys had chosen was comfortable and clean without being luxurious or fashionable. Philippa had had no opportunity to speak with Peter Fairley privately during the journey. Though they had ridden side by side, she was conscious that Sir Rhys, riding with her mother only some yards ahead of her, could hear anything they had to say and, therefore, she had had to talk of everyday things, the comforts or disadvantages of the inns they stayed at, the beauty of the scenery, or the weather. At all times, whether he was looking at them or not, Philippa was aware that she and Peter were under close scrutiny and it irked her.
At Leominster she had an excuse at last to follow Peter down to the stables, hoping to find him alone. Her little Welsh cob, of whom she had grown very fond, was limping just a little by the time they arrived and she expressed a desire to go and ask Peter to discover, if he could, the reason and pronounce his opinion on whether she were well enough to proceed next day. Sir Rhys was absent from the eating room for the moment and Philippa’s mother nodded her agreement.
Philippa was fortunate to find Peter alone and he was, as she entered the stable, examining the cob’s right fore hoof.
He looked up, smiling, as he saw Philippa. “She has gathered a small stone. It isn’t serious. I’m removing it now.”
“Will she be able to carry me tomorrow? I don’t want to further lame her.”
“Yes, my lady, she will be fine when she’s rested.”
Philippa approached him and looked back to see that no one was near the opened doorway.
“I’ve been anxious to speak with you alone since we left Milford Haven.”
He nodded. “It has proved difficult. I would have preferred to have closer access to your mother, also, but it seemed unwise.”
“Peter, do you think we are in danger from this man?”
“Sir Rhys? I doubt it, though he is the King’s man. Had he any intention of betraying us he would have done so before now.”
“Yet he could involve my grandparents in the crime of harbouring us if we are discovered there after we have actually settled in at Gretton. Should we not try to part from his surveillance after we leave Ludlow and, perhaps, postpone our arrival at Gretton?”
Peter scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Neither you nor your mother are proscribed traitors. There can be no real reason why you should not visit. I, on the other hand, could find myself arrested both for having fought at Redmoor and at Stoke and for being in your father’s service and close confidence. However,” he said, smiling. “I do not believe that Sir Rhys Griffith thinks I am important enough for him to concern himself about my doings.”
“I am not so sure of that,” Philippa replied coolly.
He glanced at her quickly. “Oh?”
“He thinks you are my lover or that you aspire to be.”
Peter’s expression of alarm was so comical that Philippa burst out laughing and she quickly explained to him what had occurred when she had attempted to slip out on that first night in Pembroke to see him.
“I hope you disabused him of that idea. Your mother would be scandalised and as for your father’s reaction to such news—” He broke off, horrified.
Teasingly she said, “Don’t you find me attractive, Peter?”
His brown eyes surveyed her somewhat myopically. “You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, Lady Philippa, barring your mother when she was the age you are now, but I would never betray your father’s trust, you know that. I love you as a…” he sought blindly for words “…as a beloved sister perhaps. I would gladly die for you if there were need, but—”
“You do not love me in the way the troubadors sing of. I understand,” she said blithely, “and that is just as well for I, too, regard you as a dear, elder brother.” She frowned, considering. “Then you do not think we should try to escape Sir Rhys?”
He sighed. “It would prove impossible. If he should decide to call out a search for us, all roads to any coast would be blocked.”
She bit her lip uncertainly. “Then we can do nothing?”
A cool voice from the doorway answered her with another question. “What is it you wish to do, Lady Philippa?”
She turned guiltily to face Sir Rhys as he entered, his cold gaze passing from her to Peter.
“We were conferring about my mount, sir,” she retorted, staring back at him defiantly. “You may have noticed she was limping when we arrived and Peter tells me she has picked up a loose stone which he has removed. I thought we might require the services of a smith.”
“Ah.” He did not take his gaze from her for moments and then turned to Peter. “Will she be fit to carry your mistress tomorrow, think you?”
“Oh,